Glass Houses

by Terri Nolan

  “The message is the only thing that ties it to the others.”

  “And the tenants were not in the process of being evicted.”

  Thom flipped his wrist. “I’m going to take off now. See about gathering a few more clothes before the kids get home. I don’t want them seeing me moving things.”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up on Iris. Chances are that isn’t her birth name. Easy enough to look up marriage licenses. If I get lucky I might find her current immigration status. Where’d you put the photos you stole from the refrigerator?”

  “They’re on the altar.”

  “Okay, I’ve got plenty to do. Go. Say hello to the kids, give them hugs and kisses from their cousin Bird.”

  _____

  Thom was mid-raid on the cookie jar when Anne entered the kitchen.

  “Thom? You should’ve called.”

  He whirled around. Chocolate chip cookie in his mouth. Glass of milk at the ready. He swallowed and took a gulp to wash it down. A little too fast, he choked and coughed up the cookie into the sink. Drank some more milk and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. What a way to receive the woman he hadn’t seen in three days.

  He noticed the butterfly before him. The teenage freckles across her nose were long gone, but the blue eyes were just as vibrant as the first time he ever saw them. Her lips, luscious with an understated nude tint and a bit shiny made them all the more desirable. Gone was the red lipstick that had been her trademark for years. Hair, a few shades lighter and cut into a stylish bob tucked behind her ears. Feet, slipped into a pair of jeweled sandals that buckled across the vamp. She wore slender slacks that stopped at her ankles and a gauzy blouse with embroidery. Simple, clean, and free of the stiff, constructed business dark she usually wore.

  She took his breath away.

  If she’d only give him a smile he could die a happy man right now.

  “I’m worried about Pearse,” said Thom.

  “Me, too,” she said. Agreeable. A good sign. “He thinks we’re getting a divorce.”

  “I told him we’re solid and that the only reason I haven’t been home is because I’m on a big case.”

  “You shouldn’t have lied. He’s old enough to know the truth.”

  “Which is?”

  “That we’re not. We haven’t been good in over a decade. How much longer are we going to pretend that our relationship is working for either of us?”

  Thom felt the blood drain from his face. He backed up, went into the sun room. Anne had the lights and heaters going, simulating summer. A book lay face down on the chaise, a glass of white wine sat on the cocktail table. It felt as cozy as the brief fire at Birdie’s house this morning. He sat on the adjacent chaise.

  “You didn’t go to work today?”

  “I’ve been backing off hours.”

  “But still have evening meetings?”

  “Yes.” She jutted her chin in a defensive manner.

  “Shall I pick up the kids from school?”

  “Pepper is getting them today.”

  Pepper was the UCLA undergrad Anne employed occasionally on a part-time basis. She ran errands like picking up/dropping off dry cleaning, grocery shopping, driving the kids to soccer practice, piano lessons.

  “What does she know?”

  “About us? Nothing. It’s none of her business.”

  “Who do you confide in?”

  “Karen is my only confidant.”

  Of course, Karen Wilcox. The best friend who covered for Anne’s dinner out. Anne picked up the glass and took a petite sip.

  “May I have one of those?”

  She nodded and went to the kitchen to pour him a glass. He watched her walk away. A slight sway of the hips. Thom always appreciated this backward view of his wife, no matter the wardrobe.

  She returned and handed him the glass.

  “Thank you,” he said and took a man-sized gulp.

  “Thom … I’ve consulted a divorce attorney.”

  The words were a stab to the heart yet he held steadfast in her presence. She had always been strong and he determined to be the same.

  “Do you understand the ramifications of that decision? You’ve always insisted we maintain a pretense.”

  “Life is too short to be unhappy.”

  “Are you seeing someone else?”

  “Of course not. We’re still married. Honestly … I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately.”

  “Have anyone in mind?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t think we should get divorced.”

  “We’re not going anywhere as a couple and neither of us is getting younger.”

  “You seem to be.”

  “I’ve lost some weight, that’s all.”

  “You know what Bird said to me on Sunday? She said you had turned into a butterfly. I told her you were a butterfly every day. God, Anne, I love you just as much today as the day I met you. But I feel like I’m always playing catch up, still chasing the girl in the white sundress. It’s like you’re just outside my reach. How could we have disintegrated into this mess? It wasn’t like this in the beginning. What happened?”

  Thom reached out to her. She turned her head. She had already left him.

  “Life happened, Thom. Kids, responsibility, the business, it all took a toll.”

  “You didn’t mention my job.”

  “I signed up for that. Against my father’s wishes. I knew full well what it’d be like married to a cop. I don’t blame you for any of this. Nor do I blame myself. We let it happen, Thom. Together. We’re both to blame in equal measure. I have no illusions about how tough a divorce would be on the kids. If we work together it’s doable.”

  “If we couldn’t work together to make our marriage work, why do you think we’ll succeed at divorce?”

  forty-six

  Birdie liked photos on her work board. Next to the original scruffy Todd she put the photo of the happy couple on their wedding day. She squinted at the school photo taken in front of a building. The only clear face was Iris’. It was as if the other girls turned their heads at the same time to look at something off camera, slightly blurring their profiles. Pretty useless. She added a photo from the newspaper article Birdie wrote about Dominic and his foster-child-clerk that Seymour had called up from archives and sent to Thom. In it, Jelena sat in a chair and gazed up at Dominic with an expression of adoration.

  She flipped through the photos she printed for Thom. Her eye kept going back to the photo of the bloody message. Dead fish. She added it to the others on the board.

  She got to work on the marriage license. Good thing Todd had an unusual last name. As is true with most public records the query must be framed exactly. It’s not like a search engine on a navigation bar where similar criteria pop up. The city doesn’t make it that easy. Birdie utilized a hand-drawn grid on graph paper. Each box represented a date. She checked boxes as dates came back negative. An easy, old-school way of keeping track. Unfortunately, each query had to be typed in one by one. All those Ys. It was tedious and strained the eyes. She put on her glasses, turned on the TV, popped a fresh piece of gum, and settled in for the long haul.

  An hour later, she finally found what she was looking for. Todd Moysychyn and Li Sū were wed at city hall five years ago February 14. Valentine’s Day. How sweet.

  So where did Miss Li Sū come from?

  Birdie started with a basic LexisNexis search. Available to anyone who paid for subscriptions, it offered one of the largest databases of legal and public records in the world. Birdie thought that a name as unusual as Li Sū should pop on the immigration grid. She found thread after thread but never a complete picture. She kept running foul in crap searches and dead ends. Her frustration level rose with each key stroke.

  Data searching wasn’t uncommon of late. But this wasn’t her
project. It was Thom’s. And while he was home playing with his kids she was doing his work.

  “Screw it,” she said aloud.

  She called Ron’s cell. She usually didn’t call when he was on the job, except when important—which this was not—but she wanted the diversion.

  “Well, lucky me,” he answered. “Two days in a row.”

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “I’m good. What’s happening?”

  “I’m doing some research for Thom’s case and it’s proving to be frustrating.”

  “How so?”

  “My subject is a mail-order bride.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean? Of course, I’m sure.”

  “The multiple Thom caught on Sunday, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said, unsure where this was going.

  “When investigating homicides assume everyone is lying.”

  “So, she’s not a mail-order bride?”

  “I don’t know, babe.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “What specifically are you looking for?”

  “Her immigration status.”

  “Why?”

  “Um … I’m looking for background. She’s a person of interest.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-two-ish. She hooked up with her husband when she was seventeen.”

  “Did you check the ‘looking for love’ websites?”

  “I went straight to the government agencies.”

  “Simplify your search. Think back to when you were that age. What did you like to do?”

  “Party.”

  “Exactly. Go to the social networking sites. Check out the websites of the hot clubs. Look at their online photo albums. That will complete a profile better than her immigration status.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” groaned Birdie.

  “Because you’ve been going at breakneck speed for too long. You make life difficult for yourself. All it takes is a deep breath. When was the last time you binged on TV or read a book for pleasure or dug up weeds in the garden? The only time you relax is when you’re with me. Or Frank.”

  “Because neither of you will tolerate anything different.”

  “Expect that of yourself. Stop avoiding self-examination.”

  “Heal thyself. That’s the drum you keep beating.”

  “I’m your boyfriend—it’s a job requirement.”

  forty-seven

  Thom twisted around, utterly lost, looking for a familiar sign. Great cop work, Thom thought. Chinatown wasn’t that tricky if one kept to the main streets, the storefronts, the gold shops, the restaurants with the hanging lanterns and pictures of menu items. But Noa’s directions took him between stalls of cheap tchotchkes, down narrow walkways covered in slimy filth, and past stinking dumpsters. He was seeking unmarked concrete stairs that lead to a basement. He had just given up hope and began to think he’d been taken for a ride when he caught the smell of something resembling barbeque. He followed his nose and found the industrial vents that led him to the location. The descent was slick and steep, and something algae-like grew on the wall. Above the door at the bottom was a wood sign carved with one simple word. Aloha.

  Thom entered a restaurant kitchen, quite large and immaculately shiny and clean—a complete dichotomy from the drippy exterior. A large, rectangular table with twelve chairs took up a significant portion of the right side. On the table, an explosion of colorful foods. Exotic orchids and other delicate flowers filled vases and decorated the table.

  “Poo-poos,” said a salty voice behind him.

  “Excuse me?” said Thom, whirling around to face a tall, brown man.

  “P-U-P-U-S,” said the man. “Hawaiian for appetizers.”

  The man standing before Thom was straight and secure, shaped by the Marine Corps and obvious to the world. Unknowable deadly skills hid behind golden, tender-hearted eyes and Thom liked him immediately. Instinct said this man would have his back.

  The man reached out. “Noa at your service.”

  They shook. “Nice to meet you. I was expecting—”

  “—a fat man?”

  “When Ron said big Hawaiian—”

  “—a common stereotype. I don’t take that stuff personally.” He gestured to the sink. “We eat with our fingers tonight.”

  Thom shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. He rolled up his sleeves and pumped the soap dispenser. The water went on automatically and he washed his hands. He had never worn a wedding ring. Never wanted a bad guy exploiting his connection to a wife or family. What irony. Noa stood next to him and also washed. Thom noticed his long fingers. Almost delicate. Thom finished and looked around for a paper towel when a tiny Chinese man with bad teeth handed him a white tea towel.

  “That’s Jin,” said Noa, also receiving a drying towel. “My friend. The best chef this side of the Pacific. I want him to work for me, but he refuses.”

  Jin smiled and bowed. Then he held out his hand for the tea towels.

  Noa sat and gestured at a chair for Thom.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said come hungry.”

  Noa waved his hand over the table. “This is all authentic Island food. Some of these you’d find at a luau.” His fingers pointed at various bowls and plates. “This is char siu—spareribs. Long rice. Huli-Huli sauce—made with Island brown sugar cane and fresh ginger. Delicious.” Noa winked. “It’s okay to double dip. This fish is dorado, most commonly known as mahi mahi. In Hawaiian, it means very strong. And they are! Man, what a workout to pull one in. It is the most beautiful fish in the world. It is steamed in taro leaves. This one here is pulled Kalua pig, coconut lime shrimp, fresh pineapple, mango, caramelized Maui onion dip with baked taro chips. All fresh and tasty and made by Jin.”

  Jin bowed again.

  “And over here,” said Noa, pouring a glass for Thom, “is the best water ever. Taste it.”

  Thom took a sip. “Yes, very good. Is it spring water?”

  Noa laughed. “It’s L.A. tap. Isn’t it great? Angelenos are missing out. Bottled and filtered? Waste of money.” Thom didn’t know if he were serious or joking.

  “Dig in.”

  Everything on the table was unfamiliar. Thom followed Noa’s lead and picked up a sparerib. Tried a bit of everything. They engaged in small talk that centered on life in Los Angeles: the weather, traffic, cars, surfing (which Thom had never done), beaches, taco trucks. Noa eyed Thom. Watched, weighed, examined. At first it made Thom uncomfortable. As the minutes passed Thom began to relax and ignored the intense study.

  “This is the only way to eat,” said Noa, putting a piece of fish into his mouth. “The whole foods way. I taught Ron the benefits of this diet.”

  “Did you also teach him to cook?”

  “Ah, no. The pupil passed the mentor. Do you cook?”

  “No. Anne does.”

  “A traditional family, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Except not so traditional, is it Thom?” Noa leaned back on his chair and patted his flat belly. He sighed with contentment. “I’m going to rest my stomach.”

  Jin placed two warm towels and two water bowls on the table.

  Thom cleaned his hands. “What do you mean by, ‘not so traditional’?”

  Noa’s smile was genuine. “When I take on a domestic I become a therapist. A very expensive one. It’s in your best interest to speak the truth and be frank because we don’t have time for bullshit. There is no judgment. Everything we discuss is privileged. Our business is our business. Just you and me. I’ve lived in the wide world and I’m smart. I’m observant. And if you listen to my advice you’ll get what you want.”

  “And Jin?” said Thom.

  “Ah, yes. Jin. H
e’s like the monkey—sees no evil, hears no evil, speaks no evil.”

  Jin smiled and bowed.

  “And …?”

  “Anne Carmichael of Carmichael Ford. The biggest dealership west of the Mississippi. A dynasty started by her father, inherited by Anne and her brother, Jerome. The gated estate, private school, cars, bills, maintenance, all paid for by Anne. Trust funds, brokerage accounts … a lot of money. You write the checks, but she provides the funds to do so.”

  “So? I married a rich woman. Money doesn’t matter to us in the way you suppose. I’ve loved her since the day I met her. I still love her. She loves me, too.”

  “Really? Is that why you think she’s having an affair? Are you protecting your feelings or your lifestyle?”

  “Screw you!”

  Noa laughed. “Yeah.” He reached across the table and slapped Thom’s arm. “Pissed off ?”

  “What are you playing at?”

  “Why do you want this woman?”

  Thom swallowed the emotion swelling up.

  Noa spread his hands. “Hey, man, I have to know where your head’s at.”

  “I fell in love with the freckles across her nose, the gold in her hair that catches the sunlight. Her lips.”

  “Hey, that’s just biology. That happens to me every day. What happens in your heart, Thom? What does she bring to the table?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “Is she a good wife?”

  “She used to be.”

  “What happened?”

  “Children.”

  “You and Anne are no longer an engaged couple?”

  “No.”

  “Does she know you cat around?”

  “How could you know that?”

  Noa leaned back in the chair. “I know where you spend your money.”

  “I pay cash when I go out.”

  Noa nodded. “Sure. And where do you get it? From the ATM, man. Like clockwork.”

  “Is this about me or Anne?”